Come on ! Come on !
Let's go ! . . .
row upon row
do the red poppies grow
Red ! Red !
the petal fed
taken from the lives
of the young and dead
The white bones
bleached of dreams
and forgotten sins ,
everything
Row upon row
of white the markers go
drenched in poppies
the dead in red grow
Bleached bone dreams
no breath
no whispers of "dear"
that death's spear pierced
Their's , no longer
the years , the fears , and tears
where the red poppies grow
row upon row